Archive of Our Own

Before he was legally allowed to drink, Eddie looked out the passenger side window of his dad’s truck, and in the dusty, barren nothing of the landscape along the I-10, he saw the rest of his life written out for him in someone else’s handwriting.

All grown up now, sometimes it feels like he never left those hot leather seats.

Never left the heavy awkward silences while the shitty radio tried to pick up stations between towns.

Never escaped the unpredictable staccato of rocks whipping out from under the back tires of the trucks ahead of them to chip away at the windshield.

The rocks never broke the windshield.

They passed through it, somehow leaving the glass intact in front of him, and struck Eddie instead. Eddie, who passed off the blow, the sudden windedness by shifting in his seat, dislodging the stones from his chest and rolling them neatly into his pockets where they would amass over years, growing heavier and heavier until he struggled to breathe as soon as he got up in the morning.

Eleven years later, walking out of an emergency meeting at Christopher’s school over his son’s recent “behaviour”, Eddie thinks of the view out of his dad’s truck and feels the weight of the rocks in his pockets.

A few months ago, before his abrupt leave of absence, Eddie’s phone would have been blowing up with texts from Buck asking for blow by blow updates of what was going on at Christopher’s school. A few months before that, Buck probably would have been going to the meeting with him. But that was before Buck moved back out of the Diaz home (and in with Taylor Kelly).

Before they both started piling up the bricks that turned into walls between them.

Before Eddie left.

Now, only two weeks into being back at the 118, and being in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable position of being unsure and awkward and so damn fragile around each other for the first time since those twelve hours of his first shift, Eddie finds Buck just quietly waiting for him at the bay doors as he’s coming back in.

He takes in Buck’s crossed arms and his expectant eyes, and everything in Eddie wants to reach out. But when he breathes in to speak, he tastes the hot, humid Texan air from the I-10 and can’t get a word out.

Buck straightens, and says “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” he replies over the soundtrack in his mind of little clinks against metal, against glass, “nothing to get worked up over.”

He knows Buck doesn’t believe him — he didn’t put that much effort into the lie, honestly — but Eddie claps him on the shoulder and walks away before he can be pressed on it.

Eddie will always regret having been away for so much of Christopher’s life. He’ll always regret that running away cost him watching that helpless little bundle grow into a little boy who could talk and walk and smile and crack jokes. He’ll never get those years back and that’ll never stop hurting.

But he can never quite bring himself to regret running away either.

El Paso was no Houston. It wasn’t the kind of city young people flock to to discover who they are and shoot for the stars. It was the kind of city where you saw your mom’s class picture every time you walked to algebra class, where your football coach was your tía’s new boyfriend, and where, when you graduated, you either became that fool-hearted kid that moved away to follow their dreams or you stayed behind and went into the family business.

Good Christian sons — good first generation American sons — they don’t move away. They grow roots in the soil their parents, their grandparents, prepared for them.

So Eddie stayed in El Paso.

He went into his father’s business.

And it was fine, at first. But the excitement of adulthood faded as quickly as the importance of having been a wrestling star in his senior year of high school did.

Being an adult didn’t bring the promised freedom of being out of school, having his own car, staying out all night, and making his own choices.

It meant wearing a scratchy polo with the family company logo stitched into it, paired with the slacks his mom insisted on ironing every evening so they kept a nice crease.

It meant giving up the idea of weekends off and nights out with the boys because the business was all that mattered.

It meant getting up at 5am to drive across the state with his dad to pitch sales to people he didn’t know for manufacturing products he didn’t give a shit about.

Every morning, it became harder to get out of bed. Harder to smile at his mom in the morning. Harder to get into the cab of the truck and shoot the shit with his dad, having the same stilted conversations over and over again.

Harder to pretend that his dad pushing him to make more sales, to make that commission, because he was a man now, didn’t knock the wind out of him more than being taken to the mat in wrestling.

Harder to stare down the emptiness of the I-10 through the passenger window and pretend he wasn’t counting the miles they drove in the weight of the rocks the road threw his way.

Nobody noticed him slowly suffocating under the weight of expectations. He certainly never spoke of it. What could he say? Thanks but the family business is just not for me? And when they asked what he wanted instead, what the hell would he say?

He wasn’t one of those Houston runaways. As a child, any dreams he had of being a police officer or a star athlete were smiled at fondly and then swept away with the promise of working with his dad — an acceptable trade-off for a little boy who barely ever got to see his old man.

He never thought seriously of having dreams, of striking it big in the world. He’d always been expected to do this. Be this.

So when he was followed out of a business plaza by a guy in a crisp military uniform who said Eddie could do something meaningful, something far away from here, something no one could say was unworthy, he followed the guy back to the kiosk and signed on the dotted line, then and there.

And on the army transport bus bringing him to Fort Sill, Oklahoma for basic training, he opened the window, stuck his hand out into the breeze, and looked out at the I-10. For the first time in years, he didn’t see didn’t see a barren landscape reflecting back at him the emptiness of his life. He saw in the rolling expanses…possibilities.

Carla was with him at the school meeting so when Eddie gets home that night, he’s grateful not to have to debrief her on what happened. All he has to do is avoid her weighted gaze so she doesn’t find an opportunity to impart her wisdom again, and bid her goodnight.

“He’s been quiet,” she says when he doesn’t give her a better opportunity to engage. “I think he’s a bit sad. A little bit…almost ashamed.”

Eddie’s heart breaks. “He doesn’t have an—”

“I know,” Carla interrupts gently. “And neither do you. But it’s there, and I think we both know that it isn’t his to carry.”

Instantly, Eddie’s chest caves in and his eyes burn. He feels Carla squeeze his forearm and then she’s gone, leaving him to the clusterfuck of his emotions.

And it doesn’t feel fair. He’s been working so hard with Frank to deal with all of this bullshit. He stopped having panic attacks, he’s talking more openly about his feelings, he’s trying to create an environment where Christopher can…

…where Christopher can feel comfortable voicing his needs and his wants. Which is exactly what his son has done, and Eddie cannot — will not — let him feel ashamed about that.

So Eddie refuses to spiral and lock down. He does the breathing exercises Frank taught him and when some tears slip through his closed lids he lets them fall and tries really hard not to hate himself for them.

He’s hurting, and it needs to come out, and that’s okay. It’s healthy, even. That’s what Frank would say. Hell, that’s what Buck would say.

A few moments later, when he’s feeling properly wrung out, he breathes some more, heads to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face, and goes to talk to his kid.

Christopher is in his bedroom, watching his new favourite space documentary series on the laptop Eddie got him for school. His headphones — the emotional crutches he’s been using for months to drown out the world — are thankfully still on their hook on the wall, but his eyes are unfocused like he’s not really trying to pay attention. There’s hot chocolate next to the laptop, poured into Buck’s green and yellow mug.

“Hey buddy,” he calls out gently, leaning against the doorframe, “how are you doing?”

Christopher shrugs his shoulders, eyes never leaving the middle-distance near his laptop. In addition to sessions with Frank, Eddie has been participating in some of Christopher’s therapy as family sessions. They’ve been going well, but their next session isn’t for two weeks and this can’t wait that long. This one’s up to them.

Eddie steps into the room and slowly reaches across the desk to pause the video. “We’re getting better at using actual words for when we’re hurting, aren’t we?”

Christopher remains quiet, his fingernail scratching lightly at the arm of his wooden chair.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Eddie says, aiming for a cheerful tone. “Today kind of sucked. I was angry that your teacher accused you of being bad. It wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Christopher mumbles with just a hint of life.

“And she was wrong, and I’m glad that she understood that. And your counselor too.”

“They didn’t believe me,” Christopher protests again, like he had during the meeting.

“No, they didn’t, and that wasn’t okay, but you know that I did, right? And Carla did too.”

Sullenly, Christopher nods.

The rocks in Eddie’s pockets press against the seams like a warning, but he says, “and you know, Buck was so mad at your school for accusing you.”

Christopher’s body straightens out of its slump and a timid smile brightens up his face. “He was? You told him?”

Eddie nods hesitantly. “Not everything, just yet, but —” Christopher’s smile falters and Carla’s words pierce through him again. It’s not his to carry. If Eddie had been a better father…

He tugs Christopher’s chair out slightly so he can crouch in front of him, hands on his knees and waiting patiently for his attention.

“Mijo, you did nothing wrong. I’m not upset with you. I’m only upset with your teacher for giving you a hard time. I just…I think we should talk a little more about it, you know? Make sure we really understand each other so I don’t accidentally join the circus because I wasn’t listening properly. Is that okay?”

Christopher isn’t completely satisfied but he manages a begrudging nod.

“Maybe not tonight though, okay? I think we both need to sleep and then we can…tackle this whole thing tomorrow.”

Christopher opens his mouth before closing again, and Eddie can hear the words “Will Buck come over tomorrow?” that he doesn’t end up saying. The thought comes again, then, that if he was a better father— But he’s also trying to learn some self-compassion, and learn that it’s okay to reach your emotional limits for the day. So instead of pressing Christopher one way or the other, he kisses the top of his head and sends him to brush his teeth.

He carries the near empty mug to the kitchen sink for rinsing, trying not to think about how long it’s been since it had last been taken out of the cupboard. How Buck’s favourite coffee is hidden behind Eddie’s, the hot chocolate mix, the honey, and Carla’s tea now that no one’s been needing it. How the expired yogurts only Buck likes are still in the trash Eddie hasn’t taken out yet.

Eddie places the mug firmly in the dishwasher and goes back to Chris’ room for bedtime.

Christopher is taking his sweet time but Eddie is just the right kind of exhausted that makes him patient, so he waits and takes the chance to lay out some pyjamas. Something his very independent son hasn’t let him do in years.

He needs to do laundry soon; the only pyjamas Christopher has left are the ones with little yellow ducks and the one with little spaceships.

His hand reaches out for the ducks, and his thumb brushes over one softly, before a stray thought of Shannon and a note on his bedside table creep into his mind.

He gives Christopher the spaceship pyjamas.

Outside of Christopher, the instinct to cut and run may have been the only thing he and Shannon ever had in common.

Shannon wasn’t Latina and wasn’t from El Paso, she was a gringa all the way from Redding, California, about as north-west California as you could get before hitting Oregon. She’d come to study and explore, and she wasn’t what Eddie was supposed to be looking for. And maybe because of that, in her, Eddie found a sort of vicarious adventure. Just a seed of an idea that his life might someday connect with something outside the walls slowly inching in towards him. That there was something else out there for him.

Then a condom failed and his already narrow world collapsed further down to the single city block where they got married (in his parents’ backyard) and bought a house (down the street) because that’s what you do when you’re a good Christian boy and you get a girl pregnant.

And every morning, in the passenger seat of his dad’s truck, he glued his eyes to the barren hills and half-dead shrubs that bore witness to these events that told him he was a man now like his father wanted, a good man who did the right thing by his family. And he tried to pretend it wasn’t getting harder to carry the rocks in his pockets with every milestone he crossed off the list. But in the end, Shannon wasn’t even showing yet when Eddie enlisted.

So when it was Shannon's turn to run, he couldn’t find it in him to hate her for it. He was upset, sure; he cussed her out pretty good in his head, on the phone, in text messages. But the note she left on their bedside table was propped up by the mountain of rocks she couldn’t carry anymore and he really couldn’t fault her for that.

And when she came back into his life, he couldn’t refuse her either.

He was stronger then. Stronger than the boy he’d been on their wedding day. Stronger than the broken and scarred man he’d returned from battle as. Strong enough to carry any load now and he needed to right his wrongs. The universe, for all that it may not scream, told him so when another condom broke and they were both given the opportunity to play their parts again, correctly this time. Eyes wide open, hearts willing…

But Shannon said no. She bowed out.

And when she died, Eddie was…he was devastated, because he loved her and it wasn’t fair.

But the rage that took him over so quickly thereafter…parts of it, he still hadn’t figured out.

He was angry at her for giving up…but on what? On their marriage? On the dreams they never truly shared together?

Angry that they praised him for enlisting, bragged about their soldier son, their Silver Star son, but still labeled her a deadbeat and refused to recognize the strength she had.

Angry that they refused to see that Shannon — agreeing to stay in El Paso, away from her family, agreeing to be a young, single mother — was so much stronger than he was. So much more courageous. So much more deserving of their praise and their empathy.

But more than anything, he was angry at himself for being pissed that Shannon had the audacity to demand a life of her own instead of reading the script they were given.

Angry that she beat him to the realization that it was okay to turn down the role.

Angry that she made him realize he was ten years older and no less a coward. No less the boy sitting in the passenger seat of his dad’s truck.

Two days later, Eddie is nearly out the station door when Buck catches up to him.

“Hey! Cap said you’re taking off? Is everything okay?”

Eddie shrugs casually and digs his keys out of his jacket to occupy his hands. “Yeah, just another meeting.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrow. “At the school?”

After three years of growing to living in each others’ pockets — including actually living together twice — Buck knows when he’s being iced out and Eddie knows it’s hurting him and would do anything to stop it…but neither of them are saying anything to fix it.

“Yeah, should be the last one,” Eddie says.

The furrow in his brow deepens. “What— I mean, he’s okay, right? He’s not like—like getting bull—”

“No! Buck—”

“Is it his CP? Is he having troub—”

Eddie throws a hand out and smiles past his racing heart in a way he hopes appears calming. “Buck! Everything’s fine, it’s just a meeting.”

Buck holds his gaze for a long moment, waiting, before looking away, wounded. “Look,” he licks his lips nervously, “I know that — that making me a legal guardian doesn’t mean I have a righ—”

“Buck… “ Eddie interjects again with a sigh and no idea how to follow it up.

“No, listen, I don’t — I’m just saying…I’m just...here, if you need anything. I want you to know that. You or Christopher, anything you need.”

The temptation is so strong, Eddie actually bites down on the inside of his bottom lip to stop from giving in.

Buck’s eyes aren’t quite red-rimmed but the bags under them have grown deeper since Monday and his shoulders are hunched. It’s always obvious on him. Eddie’s found that people taller than him usually have a subtle slouch to their posture, a way of making themselves fit into a smaller world, but Buck always stands to his full 6’2, he takes up his space…until he’s made to feel small. And that’s the last thing he wants. Especially with the echoes of the conversation in Buck’s kitchen so long ago floating around them, about how he missed the signs of street fighting. He knows that guilt needlessly follows Buck to this day needlessly.

Knows that Buck picks rocks up everywhere he finds them and Eddie can’t help but see cracks in windshields.

“Everything’s fine, Buck,” Eddie says, deliberately pitching his voice softer. “I’ll text you when it’s done.”

He leaves Buck at the bay doors, looking weighed down.

When the meeting draws to a close, Christopher heads back to class with a smile on his face and Eddie’s expression almost matches right up until his son is out of sight.

Then, Eddie’s fingers hover over the keyboard in his chat thread with Buck for several long seconds before he closes his messages, opens his dial pad, and books an emergency session with Frank instead.

It was Frank who introduced the idea that Eddie was a follower by nature. Presented by a fellow veteran, Eddie took it the way it was intended, not as an insult, but a valued skill. No squad can function with only leaders. And no squad can function with only followers. Neither was better than the other and Eddie knew himself to excel at both; he’d stepped into leadership on more than one life threatening occasion. But outside of emergencies and combat, for life in general, he wasn’t the one to leave the path and strike it on his own.

It was also Frank who extended that idea into Eddie’s failed relationship with Ana.

Eddie balked at that — he pursued Ana, he had found her gorgeous and charming the first time they met, and he called her up when they reconnected. So no, he didn’t just follow her lead.

“Not hers,” Frank agreed, and Eddie…

Eddie remembered meeting one of his dad’s business partners in his freshman year of high school who asked if he’d be following in his dad’s footsteps and before Eddie could open his mouth, his father saying “Of course, like father, like son!”

Eddie remembered breaking the news of the pregnancy to his parents, and his stoic father getting up from the sofa to call the priest to book the church as his mother nodded, her face a painting of disappointment.

No, it wasn’t Ana who led him down that road.

And it wasn’t Ana who caused his panic attacks. Not really.

It was that Eddie was split into two, perfectly compartmentalized, perfectly distinct people.

Edmundo Diaz, the good Christian son of immigrant parents, whose approval he needed so desperately he had no dreams of his own, only a yearning to perfectly act out the script he was handed at birth.

And Eddie Diaz, firefighter at the 118, who struck out of Texas with his son to find their own happiness and freedom, and wouldn’t let anyone get in the way of that.

Unfortunately, the only thing the two had in common was loving Christopher more than anything in the world.

And Ana? She was exactly what Edmundo Diaz needed: beautiful, intelligent, kind, caring and great with Christopher. And so long as Eddie could keep her occupied with Edmundo and away from everything else he wanted in life…it could work!

He really believed it could work.

Parts of him did anyway.

It took getting shot in front of Buck to really understand the consequences of the system he’d set up. To realize what Christopher had all the way back with the salad bowl incident: keeping Ana meant keeping “Eddie” away, and with him, everything Eddie held dear.

The evening after his return from the hospital, when most of the crowd was gone, and Buck and Ana were working together to tidy up, Christopher asked him quietly, nervously, “Can Buck still stay? I want him to stay.”

Eddie looked at him, not even understanding why he would ask such a question, until he lifted his head and caught Ana’s hopeful face from the other room. She wasn’t just tidying, she was dawdling, lingering. Waiting. She had talked vaguely at the hospital about helping him around the house but he hadn’t really listened. Ana wanted to stay.

And for a moment, Edmundo was about to smile back and say of course, that would be nice! But just then, Buck crossed the room to fold up the tablecloth and all Eddie could see in his mind was Ana smiling while Buck ducked into his room to grab his duffel, hugged Christopher with a sad smile, then walked out the front door.

If Ana stayed, Buck would leave.

And the intensity of the realization felt like a boulder crashing through the windshield, no chance of a pebble or a stone. But it not only crashed through him, it kept hurtling through the other compartmentalized versions of him until all his pieces exploded into shards of confusion and doubt and fear.

“Yeah, mijo, of course,” he gasped out, passing off his breathlessness as settling a pain in his back, and reminding himself it was the sling digging into his shoulder, not a seatbelt.

And like the coward he was, he sent his son out to loudly and happily inform Buck he wasn’t leaving, and Ana graciously took that as her cue to go, giving him a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile on her way out.

But in the weeks that followed, his worlds kept nearly colliding — meeting, bouncing off each other, but not synchronizing — and Eddie couldn’t bring himself to fix it. He watched Ana trip over the boots in the entrance she wasn’t used to skirting around but he didn’t ask Buck to put them elsewhere for next time. He didn’t stop Buck from filling the fridge with food even though Eddie knew she’d be bringing casserole later. He invited her over for “family time” and didn’t stop Christopher from dragging Buck away from the board game they were playing to go to the backyard, not even when Buck threw him a questioning glance.

He realized — not when it would have helped him, but later, with Frank — that he was watching, waiting, hoping she’d start feeling edged out and decide to leave, or that she’d take issue with Buck being around and force an ultimatum so Eddie could easily decide she was the bad guy and had to go for Christopher’s sake.

But she didn’t. She was perfect. Patient, caring, understanding. So he couldn’t end it. If he did and was asked why, what the hell would he say? She passed the tests he didn’t realize he’d set up for her, so she had to go?

No, there was no out. No reason to end this. Edmundo was on the right path for once. He just needed not to quit on this one. Not give up. Not fail this time.

As for Eddie…

When the pain and the better drugs had tapered off enough to let him get a good night’s rest, he woke up one day finally feeling like he had a grip on reality.

He got himself up with minimal pain, even got a shirt on, and got to see his son before school for the first time in too long. And despite having been at his side nearly every day, Eddie felt like he was getting to see Buck with clear eyes for the first time in too long too.

Buck, who smiled with all teeth when he saw Eddie up and lucid, as if the twinkle in his eyes could hide the dark bruises of fatigue underneath them.

Buck, who made a happy face of eggs and bacon on Christopher’s plate, got Eddie’s favourite hot sauce out with his traditional comment on the heresy of spicy hot food for breakfast, and only stuffed a protein bar in his back pocket for himself as he ran out the door.

Buck, who was pulling triple duty as a firefighter, as Chris’ primary caretaker, and as Eddie’s home care attendant, non-stop. Sure, Carla was back and helping but when her shifts were done, Buck was there. Always.

Buck, who’d been carrying all of Eddie’s rocks since they tumbled out on the asphalt in front of Charlie’s building.

This was too much.

Wasn’t it?

The next morning, Eddie once more took in the hazy look of fatigue in Buck’s eyes, the weight loss more obvious in the wrinkled shirt than in his fitted uniform, and the slump in his shoulders, and a ball of panic formed in Eddie’s chest.

He wondered if Buck felt the pull of his keys in the bowl at the entrance like a magnet on his hands.

Wondered if Buck stayed awake some nights thinking of how far he could drive before someone tried to find him.

Wondered if Buck spent time looking for the chips in his windshield when it got hard to breathe.

And then said, “I appreciate everything you’ve done, man, but I’m doing okay now. I’ve got the handle on doing things one-handed. You should get back to your life.”

Buck froze, his face a puzzle of confusion and was about to protest and Eddie wanted to let him, to convince him to change his mind. But he couldn’t. He’d learned that lesson. How far would they get before Eddie woke up to a note on the kitchen table? How would he break it to Christopher if he lost another —

“Seriously, between Abuela, Carla, and Ana we’ve got everything we need. You should be focusing on the new girlfriend.” He tried to grin but it probably came off as a grimace. “If you don’t stop ignoring her calls, she’s gonna move on.”

They never raised their voices, and even smiled through half of it, but the argument went on for nearly a half hour before Buck slumped back in his chair and gave in.

He left. Reluctantly. Slowly. Despite Christopher’s vocal protests and Eddie’s silent ones. He packed up his duffel bag, picked up his keys, and walked out the door. But he promised to be back on Thursday for their semi-regular movie night so…crisis averted.

And after weeks of mixing, it was time to shove his two selves back into their separate boxes.

But, as it turns out, the boulder had done irreversible damage.

He was split into a million shards and trying to shove them back together only left him with bloody hands.

And if he couldn’t have both identities living alongside each other, then he would have to decide on which one to keep and which to let go, and that just wasn’t something he could do.

So he gave them both up.

He broke up with Ana.

And he left the 118.

Eddie should be more grateful Frank can see him on such short notice, but he forgets until he sits down that Frank isn’t usually a comfort. He’s kind and supportive but he doesn’t pander, doesn’t let Eddie stew in his own bullshit for long.

Today, Frank says he needs to stop deciding others’ feelings for them.

Projecting, is what Frank says.

“How can I be projecting my feelings on others if I don’t know what I’m feeling?” Eddie counters.

“I think it’s fair to say we’ve established you do know what you’re feeling, and what you’re afraid of, you’ve just decided it’s safer to decide on the negative outcomes so you don’t have to torture yourself with the what-ifs of positive outcomes. If you can decide what all the players are feeling and what they’ll decide, you can skip all the agony of not knowing and just lay down and accept it.”

Eddie shakes his head and barely resists rolling his eyes. He’s been doing well with Frank for weeks now, this is just their first real test of the progress Eddie’s made. Which, it turns out, is not enough. It’s never enough.

“Fine. I do know what I’m feeling,” he concedes without actually agreeing. “I know that this is my pattern. That when I get pushed down a road I haven’t chosen, I…I just stay in it. And I’m trying not to do that anymore. I’m identifying situations I don’t want to be in and I…I’m just removing myself from them before I lose myself.”

“Is that what this is?” Frank asks placidly.

Eddie does roll his eyes this time.

Frank changes tacks. “About this pattern you recognize in yourself — do you see it in Christopher?”

Eddie sighs. “No.” Thank god. “Although I do everything I can to make sure he has those choices. That he’s never backed into a corner with no way out. So I don’t know. I don’t think he’d run. I think…I hope…” Eddie swallows thickly. “I hope that I’m raising him to believe he has the right to his own choices. I hope that he would have the, I don’t know, courage to stand up and say no to something he doesn’t want.”

Frank tilts his head. “And what about saying yes to something he does want?”

Eddie looks down at his hands. That’s not a question about Christopher.

“What about Buck?” Frank presses, like an asshole. “Is he creating that same environment for Christopher?”

Eddie’s heel starts jiggling up and down on the hardwood. “Yeah, of course he is. He wants Christopher to have everything he wants in life. And Buck…he’s been working on figuring out his limits, his boundaries. And more than anyone else I know, he’s had the drive to strike it out on his own, chase his adventures — for better or worse — and not settle for anything but what he really wants. But the flip side of that is…he has this need to belong so bad that he will ruin himself to get there and just not care.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Eddie sits up straight. “It means he’s really just like me, but for different reasons. It means he’ll never say no to the script if it means he gets to stay in the play, no matter what part he’s given. And I still hate this metaphor, just in case you were wondering.”

Frank says nothing but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“So I’m not projecting, am I?” Eddie says, with little vindication. “We’re just…funhouse mirrors of each other.”

Frank obviously disagrees, but only says, “I think you know you can’t protect everyone. Especially not from themselves. And I think you of all people would agree it’s not fair to not even give them the choice.”

That night, Christopher is far from the morose kid he was a few days ago. He’s swept up in excitement, throwing out pleas for a sleepover, an excursion to the beach, a trip to the space center, and Eddie is so relieved to see the stress and shame have left his little frame that he says yes to most of it before it occurs to him that if Buck is going to join them on said activities, they would need to have a talk between now and then, which makes things way too real way too fast.

Christopher gets a cup of hot chocolate again. In his own cup this time. Buck’s is back in the cupboard, clean and in the first row of the shelf, near the edge.

Eddie forgot to do the laundry again, so when he opens Chris’ pyjamas drawer, the only pair left is the one with little yellow ducks on them. He rests his fingertips on the soft material for a moment, hearing Buck’s voice going on about the universe screaming, and lets himself think about those hypothetical good outcomes Frank says he’s been avoiding. Lets himself pretend everything might turn out okay.

“How about these for tonight?” he asks Christopher rhetorically, having already anticipated the cackling cheer he gets.

The thing with Buck is that it was all so easy, he forgot to be afraid.

When Buck said, “I love kids,” a week into working together, Eddie heard it in the abstract. Everybody loves kids, his new coworker was being nice.

When Buck drove him to the hospital to see Abuela, then smoothed over Christopher’s presence at the firehouse, Eddie thought, “thank god for him.”

And when Buck brought Carla into their lives, Eddie’s thoughts jumped quite a few steps to, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Not that he came right out and said it. Eddie cared deeply, but not quickly. He was cautious. He played it safe.

Buck, on the other hand? Buck cartwheeled into minefields, he cannonballed into shark tanks, he willingly threw himself into any manner of dangerous situation if there was any chance he’d find his place in the world by doing it, might find someone who’d…care about him enough to keep him..

It was stupid.

It was actually kind of heartbreaking.

But it was also really fucking brave, to continuously say “fuck it, let’s try” after a lifetime of being left behind, especially by his parents, the two people put on this earth to love him unconditionally.

Eddie had never met anyone like him. And it was so easy to fall into Buck’s gravity, let himself feel inspired to try to open up and care so brazenly, so unreservedly, that he forgot why he needed to protect himself to begin with. And worse than that, he forgot to protect Christopher too.

He wasn’t prepared the first time Christopher lifted a hand towards Buck at the mall and said, “I want to go with my Buck.”

Wasn’t prepared for the panic he’d felt at seeing Buck’s smile, his whole body, just freeze in place. Wasn’t prepared to be thrown all the way back to El Paso, hearing the engine of his dad’s old truck revving at 5:45am.

Because Buck really was the best thing that had ever happened to them, but he was also a 20-something single guy who, by all accounts, had only recently given up the frat boy lifestyle. He didn’t sign up for this.

And worse still, Eddie hadn’t prepared Christopher for this either. Hadn’t warned Christopher not to get so attached. Not to make claims on this man who was still barely more than a stranger to him. Not to go tossing their pebbles into other people’s pockets.

But Buck unfroze, and his smile grew wider and the look he threw Eddie was teasing as he said, “Superman has spoken!” before taking Christopher’s hand, tucking that arm’s crutch under his free arm, and walking Eddie’s kid to the froyo stand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A fraction of a second later, Eddie also unfroze, his heart started beating again, his lungs expelled the lingering Texan air, and he followed gingerly after them.

And with subsequent movie nights, game nights, zoo days, and museum adventures, with every new idea Buck came up with or worry he had about Christopher, Eddie forgot to count the pebbles Buck was picking up.

He forgot to worry about them entirely, until the ocean surged up and nearly washed him and Christopher away.

He thought that was it. That Buck would realize he was a single 28 year old who didn’t need the weight of his coworker’s child’s life on his shoulders.

And maybe that’s what drove him to Buck’s the next morning with Christopher. A little piece of selfishness that saw the door opening for Buck to exit out of, and Eddie instinctively throwing himself in his path to stop him.

But when Buck froze at the door, it wasn’t out of resignation or wariness, it was out of guilt, and shame and Eddie immediately got to work making sure Buck understood how blameless he was, and how important he was to them both, until some of the light came back to his eyes.

Still, he left them that morning with his heart in his throat, checking his phone too many times during his shift, expecting a text of “I can’t do this” or “I’m bringing him to Abuela’s”. But all he got were pictures of Christopher conked out watching Mulan, and then pictures of big smiles and dirty faces in the kitchen as they made what turned out to be nearly edible scones.

And that’s probably what Eddie regretted the most.

That if he’d only learned from his mistakes sooner, had let Buck go when he should have, Eddie wouldn’t have walked into the firehouse one day to find Bobby holding up a letter telling him Buck was gone. Just…gone. Unreachable.

Maybe that’s when the rage settled in. Not at the realization that he learned his lessons too late to save Shannon, but that he hadn’t learned shit and pushed Buck away only a handful of months later. The realization that it was still Christopher who was going to lose out the most.

He saw red and, for a moment, he hated Buck with all the fury he’d never let himself feel for Shannon. The same fury only ever kept for himself. And when he saw him next he didn’t worry about burdening him. No, he threw his rocks and he hoped they landed.

Hoped they hurt.

They must have, because Buck was gone just over 2 weeks, and as soon as he heard Christopher was hurting, he shut the lawsuit down.

And that’s what threw Eddie for a loop, what made it so hard for him to hold onto his anger. It was telling Buck that Christopher missed him, and watching the genuine confusion and surprise work their way through his mind. Like Buck really hadn’t understood that he mattered enough to be missed.

In the moment, it pissed Eddie off even more because what the fuck was wrong with him — how oblivious can he be to miss an entire child growing attached to him? He tried to twist it, tried to give into the demons in his head telling him Buck was faking it.

But unlike Eddie, as soon as Buck understood his fuckup, he tried immediately, persistently to fix it.

And unlike Shannon, as soon as he was allowed back in, he made up for his absence tenfold and never strayed away again.

Still, Eddie got back to counting pebbles after that. Christopher was still on a Mulan kick and the line about a single grain of rice tipping the scales played in Eddie’s mind every time he casually invited Buck over.

And when he signed his son’s future without him over to Buck, and his attorney explained the importance of informing all parties of the arrangement to prevent complications, Eddie waited until he was out of the building to scoff and think, “yeah, that’s happening.” Because this wasn’t a pebble. It wasn’t a rock. It was a mountain. And at the end of the day, Buck was still a single 29 year old who had his entire life ahead of him and he should have the option to walk away when he wanted to while Eddie was still around.

Eddie had learned from his mistakes. For better or worse.

Eddie convinces himself not to wait until the end of the shift to try to talk to Buck. He hates the idea of his anxiety just growing and growing for the next 12 hours.

But when he gets to their (separate) lockers, shoots Buck a smile which his partner tries to return in kind, Eddie completely loses his nerve. If they have this talk, and it goes badly, they have 12 hours to go before he can legitimately run away.

He’s an idiot, and this was an idiotic plan.

“Hey,” he blurts out as Buck makes to leave the locker room. Buck turns, his eyes hopeful. “I, um. Listen.” Those blue eyes turn apprehensive because he’s already fucking this up. “Chris is having a sleepover tonight. There’s like 5 of them coming. It’s going to be a madhouse. I — I could use” — a hand — my partner — “some backup, if you’re free?”

Buck looks stunned, but recovers quickly. “Yeah, no, I mean I’m free. I don’t have any…. Yeah, I can be there.”

“Great,” Eddie breathes out, only realizing now how tense his body had become as he loosens up again. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Buck says with a shy smile, hands in pockets as he leaves.

Buck knocks on the door when he gets there that evening instead of using his key, and it takes them both a while to recover from it. They’re…shy, unsure of themselves. They’re awkward and uncoordinated bringing out snacks and arranging sleeping bags. It’s awful and the wrongness of it all creeps under his skin.

But then the Friday carpool unloads a van-full of kids and there’s no time for awkwardness, their muscle memory takes over and they coordinate to perfection. That is, after Christopher nearly trips running into Buck’s arms with so much force they almost crash into an end table.

Eddie keeps an ear out — he and Christopher spoke this morning about how they’d keep a lid on the school issues until tomorrow when his friends left and it was just the three of them at home…but he’s also a 10 year old kid hyped up on more than juice packs. Still, his friends provide enough distraction that he can’t get stuck at Buck’s side for too long.

Once they separate, Buck’s eyes don’t leave Christopher for several long minutes. They dart over his face, his frame, his crutches, looking for any sign he might be hurt, despite Eddie’s promises that he isn’t and never was.

When Buck can’t find any outward signs of trouble, he leans against the wall like he had the night Eddie came back from his date. He leans there and watches Christopher settle in, assign his friends seating around the coffee table and make sure everyone has snacks before the debate on whether they play a game or watch a movie first begins. The longer he watches, the more the tension leaks out of his shoulders, the easier the smile crawls across his lips, and Eddie…Eddie can’t look away from this man looking at his son like he and his happiness are the most important things in the world.

He’s struck by Frank’s voice in his head, his comment about projecting. And he wonders, suddenly, if he’s been so focused on making sure Buck’s not trapped in the passenger seat on a drive he didn’t want, that maybe…maybe he’s missed the signs of Buck waiting outside the truck, tapping on the window, asking for a ride.

Eddie lets out a long, shaky breath and forces himself to monitor the living room chaos before Buck snaps out of it and catches him staring. Then, too quickly, Zootopia is playing and the adults are no longer welcome in the living room, so Eddie summons up his courage and tilts his head, beckoning Buck into the kitchen.

Buck quietly closes the door behind them, and the light Friday afternoon atmosphere starts to coagulate into something thick and heavy immediately. It’s a toss-up to say if that’s Eddie’s anxiety at work or Buck’s.

“Listen, Eds,” Buck starts, bringing his hands together like a catcher punching in his mitt, a familiar look of confused contrition across his face, “I don’t—”

Eddie waves him off. “You didn’t. Whatever you’re thinking, Buck, you didn’t do anything. I just —”

I hope this isn’t the last time you’re here to help during a sleepover.

I hope this isn’t the last time you look so comfortable in my kitchen, ratty socks and all.

I hope this isn’t the stone that sinks us.

“They…thought he’d started swearing,” he manages to get out. “The school.”

“Swearing?” Most of the anxiety is wiped from Buck’s form and replaced swiftly with a full-bodied indignation.

Eddie holds out a dismissive hand. “He’s not, but I get how they got there. There was a new teacher, and she was pretty sure she kept hearing him saying” — he whispers even though the kids can’t hear over the closed door and thousand decibel tv — “‘fuck’.”

Buck crosses his arms and leans back against the island, all traces of uncertainty gone, looking for all the world like he belongs. Like he never left. “But he wasn’t.”

Eddie shakes his head and bites the lower corner of his lip before looking at Buck with a weighted gaze. “He was saying ‘Puck’. ‘Pucky’ sometimes, but that was less of a problem.”

Buck’s eyes widen with concern. “He’s having problems with ‘B’s?”

Eddie could lie. Could let Buck believe exactly that. And in a few weeks say the speech therapist worked her magic and Christopher is fine again.

He could keep running.

But he doesn’t want to be a coward anymore.

“No, he’s having trouble with ‘P’s,” he says in a sigh. “They’re all mostly the same muscles. Labio-…friction-…Explosives? I don’t know, something in linguistics. Basically the ‘P’ and ‘F’ sounds are closer together than the ‘B’s apparently.” He should have written this down, clearly. Buck would probably be researching this all night. If he stayed. “When he was younger he’d switch out the ‘P’s with ‘F’s — a lot of kids do — and he grew out of that but sometimes he can pronounce the ‘P’ a little too softly, so all you know is there’s a missing letter at the start of the word. So like I said, I can see why the teacher made assumptions he was swearing, saying what he was saying.”

“Okay, but he’s not the only kid with speech issues at that school, she shouldn’t be making assumptions that he’s just suddenly acting out. He’s not a troublemaker. He’s a good kid,” Buck says darkly and Eddie’s heart twists in his chest. He really wishes all of this could just go away until he was ready. He wishes he could be sure he would ever be ready.

Eddie tilts his head in agreement.

“So,” Buck frowns and Eddie swallows convulsively. “Puck? And here a guy thinks his name is unique. Unless…I mean, they seem a little young to be studying Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare,” Eddie stalls, sounding impressed. “Mission Impossible is news to you but Shakespeare you can pick out of a lineup.”

“I read! I know Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Buck boasts before grinning. “They made us read it in high school. Puck was my favourite.”

“He would be,” Eddie says, too fondly, before nodding, then bracing his hands on the counter behind his back. “But, no. No Shakespeare. Angelica Mohan.”

Buck’s brow furrows as he tries to place the name. “She was at his last birthday party. She brought the really expensive home chemistry kit.”

Eddie nods. ”Yeah. Angelica’s mom remarried a few years ago and triple income means inappropriately expensive gifts, I guess.” Eddie’s palms are sweaty behind him against the quartz countertop and he can feel his words starting to jumble. “But, uh, he’s a good guy, I guess, the new husband, and Angelica...I guess she’s ready now. She’s decided she wants to, you know, call him ‘dad’ but that’s what she calls her other — her biological dad and she’s been calling him Adam — that’s the new guy — for so long they kind of want to transition so they figured she can call him Papa Adam. Which is fine. But because smushing names together is apparently not one of the trends the next generation is going to kill…that turned into ’Padam’.”

“Padam,” Buck’s face twists with unrestrained gleeful distaste. “She’s going to call him Pa—” Buck freezes, his eyes widening and his face going slack as he repeats, softly, “Padam.”

“As in—”

“Puck.”

Eddie’s fingernails dig into the lip of the countertop as he tries to keep his eyes on Buck instead of sliding them away in shame because this is it. This has to be it. This is the final nail in the coffin of asking too damn much of him.

Buck was a single 30 year old who could have life outside of them. And he loved them, of that Eddie had no doubts, but that didn’t mean he was okay with hitching himself to them forever. A legal guardianship didn’t have to mean anything until Eddie actually kicked it, really.

“What— Ah. Why— When—”

“How?” Eddie interjected to try to dispel the tension. Buck’s lips twitched out into a half-second smile before retracting into his processing face: brow furrowed and gaze jumping. Eddie took a steadying breath.

“That’s, uh, kind of on me. I — when I...went to my attorney and changed my will, I didn’t really run it by him. I probably should have but I had just nearly died and was pretty shaken up by it and he was just barely 9 and I didn’t want to hammer home the idea that he could lose me any time soon so...I just didn’t. I knew,” Eddie swallows convulsively as he recalls the absolute horror show of emotions he went through leading up to his decision, “I knew you were the right call. I knew he’d be okay with you, that if he was in a position to, I don’t know, vote for it, he’d pick you. So it just didn’t feel like it mattered at the time.”

Having not realized until now that his eyes are boring a hole into the hinge of the island cupboard, he hazards a look towards Buck, whose processing face is looking a lot more fragile than before.

“Anyway, I figured since I told you, and it’s been nearly six months since the shooting — I mean I checked in with his therapist and Carla and they thought it was okay, timing-wise…” He can’t help himself from explaining and defending his decision as if it was his parents standing before him, not Buck, who always has his back. “So I told him, you know, in kid-friendly terms, that if ever...I was sick or just not around, that you’d be there to take care of him. You being here, staying here with him while I was in the hospital was actually a good concrete example for him to really understand.”

“And...he—he was...good with that?”

And Eddie wants to laugh because yeah, obviously, that’s why they were in this pickle. Because his kid liked the idea even more than the a lot expected. But there’s a shy disbelief in Buck’s countenance he never wants to just dismiss or belittle.

“Yeah, Buck, he was. Just like I knew you would be too.”

Buck nods and ducks his head but Eddie can still see the smile he’s trying to tuck away.

“But obviously,” Eddie continues, “in the meantime, it would be better if the kids in his class don’t also start thinking he’s starting to swear and copying him so...”

Instantly, Eddie sees the devastation streak across Buck’s face and wonders how the hell he ever got himself so worked up.

“But he doesn’t have any problems with ‘D’s, so he — I mean, I told him — I…suggested… he try ‘Ducky’, or ‘Duck’, instead,” he stammers. “Just...instead of — of ‘papa’...you know...”

“Dad,” Buck chokes out. He looks so startled Eddie has to work to keep from laughing, though it’s made easier by the wet sheen building in his eyes.

“You...gonna be okay with that?” Eddie asks, his voice teasing.

Buck laughs once, wetly, and looks away before working his way back to Eddie, a smile tugging strongly at the lips he’s biting.

“Wait, but,” Buck throws out his hands, concern washing over him again, “how do you feel about this? I mean you just said you told him— but I mean that’s a big — I mean I never put him up to this, I hope you know that — “

“Buck,” Eddie shakes his head, his own hands coming up to encourage Buck’s back into rest. “Buck, I know you didn’t. And I—” Eddie sighs and hangs his head to gather his words before looking up. “Ever since I came back from the army and, you know, got my head out of my ass, I’ve felt like I have to play defense with my kid. My parents — you don’t know how many times they’ve tried to convince me to leave Christopher with them, that they could raise him better, provide better for him—”

“They’re wrong,” Buck says fiercely.

“I know,” Eddie says gratefully, “but they still try, to this day. And when Shannon came back into the picture, I just couldn’t get my hackles down for the longest time. I just...somewhere along the line, I’ve become crazy protective of that kid and who gets to be around him.” Eddie looks at him then, properly. “And then you walk in and I’ve…literally never felt so comfortable with anyone being involved in his life. Since the second you met him, met me, you’ve done everything in your power to help him, or help me be there for him. You’re not someone I have to be afraid of, you’re someone who makes everything better just by being around. You’re,” — in for a penny, in for a pound, Eddie thinks — “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us, Evan. So if you’re okay with ‘Ducky’, I’m...I’m more than okay with it.”

Buck’s reddening eyes are wide and vulnerable with awe and it seems to take him a moment to realize Eddie’s finished talking and it’s his turn now. He clears his throat and sniffs back tears before nodding convulsively.

“Yeah, of course,” he says quickly. “Of course. I...fuck, I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, not ‘fuck’, there’s four impressionable kids out there and it’s specifically that scandal we’re trying to avoid,” Eddie teases, laughing when Buck’s eyes widen in panic and he turns around to make sure none of the kids have snuck up on them without their notice.

“That’s… So, but wait,” Buck starts slowly as he turns back to Eddie, his brow furrowed, “he’s having trouble with his speech? Do we know why? Is he okay?”

Eddie smiles. “He’s fine. He’s gonna go back to the speech therapist next week but that’s what the second meeting was. She was there, and she’s not really worried,” Eddie shrugs. “She thinks it’s just a case of a kid getting too excited over this...new thing and stumbling over some words a little like all kids do.”

Buck nods absently, wondrously.

Eddie takes those 2 seconds where Buck is lost in thought to take a breath and process the fact that he’s just laid the Ducky boulder on Buck’s shoulders and the man is standing firm in his kitchen, trying to hold back happy tears. Then he thinks, in for a pound, in for the whole goddamn mountain range, just as Buck thumbs away a tear from his lower lashes.

“Ever get the feeling we’ve…been doing this all backwards?” Eddie feels drunk as he says it, the words coming out faster than he can reason them. “You know, coparenting first, then moving in together, and— ”

Buck protests with a wet laugh, “I…moved back out though. You practically kicked me out,” he says without accusation, but hurt still lingering on his voice.

And after three months of working with Frank, Eddie is finally able to say, “I wish you hadn’t, I wish I hadn’t”, causing both Buck’s eyes to widen even as Eddie presses on. “I — we — I missed you like the second the door closed. I didn’t…I really liked having you here. More than…more than I should have, if...”

Buck shifts and crosses his arms back over his middle self-consciously. “I would have stayed,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want…I was so afraid of overstaying my welcome. When you said…I thought that was it, that you’d finally gotten tired of me.”

Eddie shakes his head down at his own crossed arms.

“Never,” he breathes out.

So why did you make me go? is left on kitchen tiles.

“You were seeing Taylor,” Eddie answers anyway, feeling the weakness of the excuse as he says it. “You were…running yourself to the bone here, Buck. You were taking on…so much. Too much.”

“I would have stayed,” Buck promises with all simplicity and sincerity.

“I know…” Eddie clears his throat. “I know you would have. That’s the problem.”

Buck jerks as though he’s been struck and Eddie shakes his head, unwinding his arms to plead with Buck to wait, to hear him out.

“Thing is, I know what it’s like to just turn around one day and be saddled with a life and a” — he chuckles as he thinks back to their last deep talk on bunks at the 118 — “a ready-made family. And I — fuck, Buck — I’m kind of terrified you’d just give me anything I wanted just because I asked for it and I can’t stand the idea that you don’t get an out. That you just get pulled into all of this, feel the pressure piling on and just quietly go through the motions, hating every minute of it until all you can think of is getting away from us. Just resenting us, resenting me—”

Buck’s scoff startles them both and Eddie wrangles his darting gaze back to his face to catch the clearest expression of “are you fucking dumb?” he’s ever seen.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs suddenly, “Frank, um, may have been onto something about projecting. It may also surprise you to know it turns out I…may have a small problem asking for help.”

Buck’s scoff turns to a disbelieving chuckle.

“Turns out,” Eddie continues, the levity rushing out of him as he reaches into his chest to pull his heart out on display, “I also have…trouble…asking for things I need or — or for what I actually want.”

With great difficulty, Eddie eyes flit up in higher and higher passes until they lock with Buck’s, so Eddie can try to convey the weight of what he means. The bewildered shock on Buck’s face and the wetness of his eyes tells him he’s getting his message across.

“I would have stayed,” he promises again, his voice thick and his eyes shimmering with unshed tears yet still so blue, so earnest, “I wanted to stay.”

The self-doubt must show on Eddie’s face because a smile cracks out on Buck’s at the same time a tear falls off his lash. “You think you’re the only one who thought some things through while you were away? I was in therapy years before you, Eds, I’m miles ahead of you epiphany-wise.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, before turning somber again. “You were dating Taylor,” he says, but it comes out as a question this time.

Buck shrugs. “You were dating Ana.” Simple as that. “Eds, I’ve wanted this for…way too long.”

“It’s a lot,” Eddie counters. “I’m a lot. We’re a lot.”

“The Christmas Elf at Santa’s Workshop thought we were together and Christopher was our son, and I...I really liked it. I wanted it.”

“That—” Eddie’s heart’s in his throat and his mind isn’t at full capacity, “that was—”

“Three years ago,” Buck confirms, looking suddenly more vulnerable. “Not to say that I had a clue back then, I needed my own…processing time. But yeah, I’ve been spending a lot of time figuring myself out since the pandemic started, and Eddie I know the person I want to be, the version of me I want to be, and I know what I want. And I…I wanted…I want…to stay.”

“I want you to stay,” Eddie says again, nearly as a whisper. They’re not exactly the words he wants to say but he thinks they land as he’d hoped as Buck takes a small step forward, his processing face back and his hands coming together. One of his hands is gesturing and the other one is holding it back. “You, uh, you said we’ve been...doing all of this backwards. Wh—what comes after...moving in together? On that backward scale.”

A short laugh escapes Eddie. “I don’t know, I guess probably a date? Dating? Dates?”

Buck’s blue eyes have never been wider or more focused and Eddie hopes he looks the same so at least Buck doesn’t feel alone as he walks them up to this precipice.

Buck takes another step forward on the linoleum and Eddie straightens up in response.

“If you think about it,” Buck says, his voice coming out breathless, “we’ve sort of done a lot of that, haven’t we?”

Eddie’s lips curl into a surprised smile.

“I...could see that. Three years’ worth of it.”

“So then, what’s, ah, after that?”

Buck’s eyes drop down to his lips and Eddie’s mouth drops open and lax in response. He can feel his heart running rampant in his chest and his breath is quickening. His palms prickle with sweat like he’s in the 7th goddamn grade, and he can’t take it, can’t take this anticipation anymore, so he steps forward and rubs his hands against the fabric at Buck’s waist. Then he waits only to hear the hitch in Buck’s breath and see the darkening of his eyes before tugging him the last few inches closer and taking his lips.

Buck emits a soft gasp, as though he was still surprised despite seeing it coming, and Eddie chases it, pulling his hands up to Buck’s shoulders for better leverage. It’s messy and uncoordinated because they both want it too much and are both too nervous about it. But it’s hot and electric and heady and somehow grounding.

Buck’s hands close around his hips and suddenly Eddie’s being walked backwards, back into the counter and being pressed into it, Buck becoming heat and pressure against his front.

Buck whines against Eddie’s mouth and that’s apparently the magic combination to unlocking Eddie’s inhibitions because when Buck tries to heave him onto the counter, Eddie doesn’t resist. He’s instantly grateful for the leverage that allows him to regain control of the kiss and allow his legs to close around Buck’s hips like a vice until their groins are aligned and Eddie can’t breathe he’s so worked up.

So it’s a curse and a blessing when four 10 year olds break into peels of laughter.

Eddie and Buck both break the kiss and whip their heads towards the living room and are immeasurably grateful the laughter is contained a room away. They didn’t actually get carried away and walked in on by their kid and his friends.

Yet.

Buck moves to untangle himself first but Eddie needs a moment so he clamps his legs around Buck’s hips to stop him from leaving. He listens closely to make sure he can’t hear the kids rustling to get up from their movie, and when he’s satisfied they’re safe, he pulls Buck back in until he can rest his forehead against Buck’s and takes the time to catch his breath.

“I vote…we skip around the scale,” he says with a grin. “I really don’t want to wait until we can…go out to do that again.”

“Ah, agreed,” Buck laughs and leans back, his smile wide and happy, his cheeks flushed. “So’s that mean you don’t want me to move back in?” Eddie can tell it’s really just a joke but he’s just kissed Buck and Buck kissed him back and he feels drunk and truthful so—

“I do,” Eddie admits. “I really do, Buck, I…I want you to stay,” he says in a measured tone, turning his gaze weighty, and delighting in Buck’s answering flush. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or that it’s some kind of A or B situation. The scale is adjustable, I think we’ve proven that pretty definitively.” Eddie rubs his thumb over the hot skin of Buck’s neck and takes note of the small shiver it causes, tucking it away for later. “I don’t want to throw too much at you if you’re not ready. We’re here, you don’t need to give any more than you’re comfortable.”

Buck huffs a laugh and looks at him with an expression of disbelief reminiscent of the ambulance blowing up on their first shift. “Eddie, I’m the one who just walks all over your life. You’re the one that needs to decide on boundaries because I clearly have none. I moved into your house and took over taking care of Chris while you were in the hospital before I even knew about the will. I’m — I’m a lot. I know that and I don’t want — I don’t want to cross a line,” he says, almost pleading with him. But then a shy smile takes over his lips, and his warm hands rub into Eddie’s hips and he says quietly, “especially not now. I don’t want to do anything to — to lose this.”

And what the hell is Eddie supposed to do but pull him in for an agonizingly slow and tender kiss, children in the next room be damned.

“How about this, then,” Eddie begins, his voice rough once they break apart. “Stay tonight, here, with me —”

Buck tilts his head towards the living room. “My usual spot is kind of occupied,” he notes with a grin Eddie’s only ever gotten to see when Buck’s flirted with other people and to see it directed at himself—

“Stay with me,” he nearly begs, his voice pitched lower, his hands gripping at Buck’s sides. They both know nothing will happen with a pack of wild 10-year-olds under their watch but together, in Eddie’s room, in his bed…that’s still a hell of a lot to take in.

“Go back to your place tomorrow morning,” Eddie continues, “and grab what you need to stay with us for the weekend.” Buck smiles and bites his lower lip, distracting Eddie with the need to replace Buck’s teeth with his own. “And then on Monday, you can go home if you want, but maybe the stuff you brought stays here.”

“And then the next time I’m over, I should bring more things?” Buck drawls.

Eddie nods casually. “Well your stuff will be in the wash then so yeah you’d have to.”

“Right, so probably it should be stuff I’m comfortable taking out of my apartment for an indeterminate amount of time.”

“Indeterminate, indefinite, whatever.”

Buck looks away, laughing, before sobering slightly. “You think Chris will be okay with that?”

“You’re asking me if I think Christopher will be okay with his Ducky being around more?” Eddie asks blandly. “Yeah, I think we just might be able to win him over on the idea, Buck.”

Buck doesn’t answer with words, but the way he dives back in, presses the warm length of his body against Eddie and kisses him until neither can breathe tells Eddie they’re probably on the same page now.

Before he was legally allowed to drink, Eddie looked out the passenger side window of his dad’s truck and, in the dusty, barren nothing of the Texan landscape, saw his entire life written out for him in someone else’s handwriting.

Eleven years later, mere weeks after they’ve given up the pretense of Buck not living at the Diaz house, Eddie looks out the passenger side window of Buck’s Jeep on the way to work. They’ve just dropped off Christopher — “Bye, Dad! Bye, Ducky!” still ringing in their ears — and his playlist is still playing softly in the background like they’re carrying a piece of him with them.

Eddie’s got one hand trailing in the cool breeze outside the window, and the other wrapped in Buck’s fingers on the console between them.

Christopher will probably grow out of “Ducky” soon enough, his teenage years are on the horizon after all. But some other name will come along when it’s time. Buck’s place in his life, as his second parent, that’s uncontestable now. Especially given that his entire class knew about it long before Buck himself did.

Buck has taken the shift in true Buckley fashion — he hasn’t stopped smiling in weeks, he’s standing at his full 6’2” all puffed with pride, and more importantly, he’s never knocked on their front door again.

As for Eddie, there are still pebbles in his pockets but not nearly as many as there used to be. Many were and will continue to be dropped on Frank’s couch, some were let go during hard conversations with his parents, with Christopher. And some he now shares custody of with Buck.

And the ones that are left, they’re not that heavy. He’s strong enough now to carry them.